The Skeleton in the Closet
by Geeky-DMHG-Fan
Summary: The skeleton in the closet.  Everyone has one.  What's Hermione Granger's?  Three-Shot.  Post-Hogwarts, EWE. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, I know. It's not Series of Unfortunate Events. Sorry. But this one is finished. I've just broken it up into bits to be delivered at my whimsy. Hope you all enjoy. =D

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><p><strong>Skeleton in the Closet<strong>

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><p>Hermione jabbed the elevator button for the Atrium, pretending the circular button was actually Sharon Vernus's eye. Curse that stupid cow! Not even her boss, and yet keeping her ten minutes after her shift ended. Now Hermione was late to meet Ginny and her new boyfriend for dinner.<p>

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently as the lift slowly delivered her into the Atrium. Walking, half-running, she made her way to the nearest apparition point and pictured The Melting Cauldron, Diagon Alley's newest restaurant, in her mind. Less than a second later, she appeared in a small alley that ran along the side of the restaurant, only slightly stumbling into the red-headed witch waiting for her.

'There you are! I was worried you wouldn't make it!' Ginny exclaimed, nearly choking her with a hug.

'Of course I made it. I promised I'd be here, didn't I?' Hermione said, somewhat annoyed. When had she ever shirked her duties?

'Right, should have known. Anyway, thank you so much for coming. It really means a lot to me.'

Hermione took a step back, scanning her usually unflappable friend. Ginny Weasley trembled from head to toe, but whether from nerves or excitement Hermione could not tell. But seeing Ginny arrayed in her new outfit, Hermione was certain of at least one thing. 'I'm underdressed.'

'Nonsense. What you're wearing is fine. I just wanted to, you know, look nice for him.'

'Someone's smitten.'

Ginny laughed, the sound echoing off the stones surrounding them. 'I know. Isn't it pathetic?'

Hermione shrugged. She could think of numerous occasions when she'd dressed up to, as Ginny put it, 'look nice for him.' Of course, now she felt stupid for it, but hopefully Ginny would have better luck.

'Well, let's get this over with, shall we?' Hermione linked her arm with Ginny's and took a step towards the restaurant and Ginny's mystery man.

'Just a minute. Before we go in, I need to say something.'

'Alright,' Hermione said, trying to be patient, though really dying inside to see the guy Ginny had been secretly dating. That Ginny could have conducted a hidden relationship right under Hermione's nose without her having any idea bruised her ego, though she would never admit it.

'Please don't walk out of the restaurant the instant you see him. I really like him, and I want this relationship to work. And I really want my family and friends to accept him as well. Of course, it's too soon to introduce him to my parents without my dad or him having a heart attack. And I can't trust any of my brothers not to do something stupid. And, well, Harry…'

'Yes, ex-boyfriends are always awkward. Not that I would know, but I understand.'

'You would know if you would let me set you up with someone. I know a handful of guys who would be more than willing to date the famous Hermione Granger.'

The witch in question let out an exasperated sigh. 'I have no interest whatsoever in obtaining a boyfriend that way.'

'Honestly, Hermione. For someone so practical you put a lot of stock in romance. I hate to break it to you, but real life isn't like those books you read. Take me and-' Ginny paused, her lips contorting in a wry grin. 'Whoops, almost gave his name away. Take me and "him" for example. One of my teammates introduced us after a game. No immediate sparks, no fireworks erupting in the background, but now I could almost see myself marrying him.'

Hermione's jaw dropped. Wow. Already that serious?

'How long have you been seeing each other?'

'Unofficially, about eight months, though the whole time we only dated each other.'

'Ginny! Why didn't you tell me sooner?'

'We can talk about that later. The point I'm trying to make is that you shouldn't sit around the Ministry waiting for Wizard Right to break down the door to your office and sweep you off your feet while perfectly adequate guys would give their eye teeth to go on a date with you.'

'That's nice, but if I'm supposed to have a boyfriend, it will happen. Without any outside interference.'

'Ugh, you are so infuriating!'

'But not infuriating enough that you don't want me to go to dinner with you, right?'

Ginny's hands tightened around Hermione's arm like a boa constrictor, cutting off the flow of blood to her fingers. 'Hermione! That's not funny. If you bail on me now, I'll die.'

'Relax. I'm not going anywhere. Unless it's inside the restaurant. We are fifteen,' she glanced down at her watch, 'no, sixteen minutes late.'

'We'll go, but only after you promise me you won't walk out when you see him.'

'It's not Draco Malfoy, is it?' The very idea made Hermione's stomach clench most unpleasantly. In fact, if it were Draco, she might get sick all over the pavement.

'Of course not. I would never date him or even consider dating him after what his aunt did to you.'

Hermione sighed in relief. 'Well, if you aren't dating Malfoy then you have nothing to worry about. I'm sure I'll get along with him just fine.'

'You say that now…'

'Ginny, we're late! Whoever he is, he's going to think you stood him up.'

Ginny took a deep breath, nodding her head. 'Right. Let's go.'

They walked around to the entrance of the building, and Hermione moved her hand to the door to push it open. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when Ginny cried out, 'Wait!'

'What is it now?' Hermione snapped irritably. 'I already told you I'll be happy with whoever's at the table.'

'That's good to hear, because he brought a friend.'

Before Hermione could object, Ginny pushed open the glass doors of the restaurant and disappeared inside. The little rat! Hermione stared at the closed doors, half a mind to abandon her there. Ginny had been trying to set Hermione up on a few dates over the last year, but Hermione had always seen through her lame attempts. And thank Merlin for that. Some of Ginny's hand-picked bachelors were real duds. For instance, Cormac McClaggen. ('What? I'm sure he's learned to keep his hands to himself, and you have to admit, he's hot!'). Or Oliver Wood. ('Alright, he isn't the sharpest tooth in the dragon's mouth, but at least you don't need to worry about him pawing you like Cormac'). And most laughably, Dennis Creevey. ('Unlike Oliver, he's smart. And he may be short, but that's probably because he hasn't had his last growth spurt.').

Walking as quickly as propriety would allow in such a fancy restaurant, Hermione hurried to catch Ginny. Pulling her up shortly, Hermione hissed in her ear, 'What do you mean he brought a friend? Is this a double date?'

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. 'We both thought it unfair that he should have to face you on his own, so I told him to bring one of his friends. He didn't specify their gender. '

Hermione stopped walking. Two steps later, Ginny realized she was by herself. Turning back around, she contorted her face, eyes wide and open, mouth slightly parted—the picture of innocence. It did not fool Hermione.

'Hermione, come on. What's the big deal?'

'Some warning would have been nice.'

'What do you think I was doing outside?'

'Telling me the instant before we walk into the restaurant is not a warning. Geez, Ginny, I'm still in my work clothes.' Hermione glanced around at the grandeur of the restaurant, once again feeling out of place. And awkward! More than one patron stared at her, though they quickly glanced away when she looked back at them. Great, now she had an audience. Lowering her voice, she snarled, 'You know what, I won't do this. I thought I was doing you a favor, and instead you were just trying to dupe me into meeting some guy I'm sure I'll dislike. You're on your own.'

Ginny's hand on her elbow made it impossible for Hermione to leave. 'This isn't a trick. I wanted to introduce him to everyone, but you're the only person that won't hex me for dating him.'

Hermione stared straight ahead, her expression as inviting as a pit of quicksand filled with flesh-eating vipers.

'Please don't make me beg,' Ginny pleaded.

Oh, so tempting. But Hermione had something better in mind. 'You will promise to never set me up with anyone ever again.'

'But—

'Never, ever, ever. Not with Cormac, Oliver, Dennis, or anyone else. Swear it, or I will walk out of this restaurant right now, then owl Ron, Harry, and Rita Skeeter that you are here with your new boyfriend.'

Ginny scowled, but her eyes glinted with grudging respect.

'Fine. I swear I will never, ever, ever try to set you up with anyone. Now can we go? We're late.'

'Now you care about being late.'

Ginny ignored her, approaching the host's stand. A man whose nose and lip seemed frozen in an upturned position glanced up, giving Hermione the stinkeye for daring to wear anything less than an evening gown. 'May I help you?' he asked Ginny. Apparently Hermione looked inhuman and therefore did not merit eye contact.

'Yes. My party's already arrived,' Ginny answered.

'Mmm hmm. Your name, please.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. As if the host couldn't recognize either of them on sight. Between the two of them, they were in the Wizarding papers almost every day.

'Ginny Weasley.'

The man's finger ran down a list until he located her name. 'Ah, right this way, madam.' Hermione assumed that included her too.

The soft sounds of clinking silverware and dinner conversation seemed to stop at every table they walked by. Even after growing up as Harry Potter's best friend and being a major player in the war, Hermione had still not gotten used to her fame. She missed her privacy most of all. But at least in a place like this, she didn't have to worry about being asked for an autograph. While not so grand that it merited the host's snobbery, the candle-lit restaurant offered a decidedly more elegant atmosphere than The Leaky Cauldron.

The host led them towards the back section of the restaurant. Ginny's sharp intake of breath alerted Hermione that the table of the Mystery Boyfriend was close at hand.

Sure enough, Ginny pointed to a table where one man sat by himself, his back toward them. In the dim lighting of the restaurant, the only thing Hermione could determine concerning the Mystery Boyfriend was that he had dark hair.

Rushing past the host, Ginny moved to stand behind Mystery Boyfriendfriend's chair, placing her hands over his eyes. The host, probably disgusted by the informal behavior, bowed slightly to no one in particular and left.

'Guess who,' Ginny asked, giggling.

'Millicent Bullstrode,' Mystery Boyfriend answered.

Ginny socked him in the shoulder. He drew up his hand, rubbing the now sore spot. 'Careful. I bruise easily.'

The lazy drawl of his voice sounded familiar, sending a chill down Hermione's spine. But it wasn't him, she reassured herself. And when Hermione listened more carefully as they continued speaking to one another, she realized the voice was different. Slightly deeper. Still Hermione couldn't place it. Mystery Boyfriend stood to his feet, but Ginny quickly blocked his face from Hermione's sight by stealing a kiss from him.

As one, they turned towards Hermione.

'May I introduce you to my boyfriend, Blaise Zabini.'

Blaise Zabini? Hmm. Hermione could live with that. Not the nicest person, but hardly the worst. And who knows how he might have changed in the years since they'd graduated from Hogwarts. Whatever other objections Hermione could have had vanished in the face of Ginny's obvious happiness. Her skin glowed as if someone had charmed her with a Lumos spell.

Determined to be a good friend, Hermione extended her hand to shake Zabini's. She almost fell over from shock when he pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

'Good evening, Hermione. Thank you for joining us tonight.'

Hermione nodded her head. 'You're welcome.'

'Who did you bring?' Ginny asked.

'Ah, yes,' Zabini said, smiling at Hermione. 'My token friend. I'm sure you are already intimately acquainted with one another so introductions will be unnecessary.'

What did he mean, intimately acquainted?

A throat cleared behind her. 'Evening, Hermione.'

The hairs on her arms stood on end. It couldn't be. But _his_ voice, unlike Blaise's, was unmistakable. And unforgettable, though she had tried her hardest to banish it from her memory.

Stupid, stupid Hermione! She should have known the second she saw Zabini that Malfoy would be at the table. But Ginny's disgust at the idea of dating Malfoy had lulled Hermione into a false sense of security. Not even three years after the war and already she'd gone as soft as a cotton ball.

Hermione did not want to look at him, but curiosity overruled common sense. They hadn't spoken in weeks. Had studiously avoided each other in the Ministry hallways. Well, she assumed he had, since that was exactly what she'd done and she hadn't seen him once since the day he'd pushed her away. Literally. And really, that was fine with her.

Really.

Hermione glared at Malfoy, refusing to speak unless absolutely necessary.

'Now, children, play nice,' Zabini chided a little too gleefully.

'Blaise, I'm not sure…' Ginny said hesitantly. If Hermione had looked over, she would have seen Ginny clearly distressed on her behalf. But Ginny's shock and dismay were entirely lost on Hermione, who had decided to ignore her so-called friend for the foreseeable future.

'It's been, what? Almost a month since I've seen you. How have you been?' Malfoy asked.

'Fine. Actually, better than fine. This past month has been the best in my life.'

'Even though that bit of house-elf legislation you helped draft didn't make it into final law?' Malfoy asked, smirking.

Smug bastard! He would bring that up! Hermione ordered herself to uncurl her hands, which were choking the life from the material of her pants.

'I have had other reasons to be happy,' she said, pushing the words through her clenched jaw.

'It must be all that Malfoy-free living that agrees with you. You look like a new woman,' Blaise said.

'What are you talking about, Blaise?' Ginny asked, confused. 'Didn't you know they work together? On the same floor? I'd hardly call that Malfoy-free living. '

'Oh, my apologies,' Zabini said, placing a delicate hand on Ginny's arm. 'For some reason I was under the impression that they no longer were together. Excuse me, I mean, worked together.'

'You haven't asked how I am, Hermione,' Malfoy pointed out, overlooking Zabini's unfortunate choice of words.

'And I'm not going to.'

Zabini laughed, tucking Ginny's hand into his elbow. He led her to the table and pulled out her seat. Malfoy moved to do the same. Holding out his hand to Hermione, he waited for her to take it. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest. Escape was impossible. They had attracted the attention of the tables around them. But Hermione would not let him bully her into acting nicely, no matter how many people were watching.

She dismissed Malfoy with a curt nod of her head, then made her way to her seat with the ferret hot on her heels. When he tried to pull her seat out for her, she coldly informed him, 'Thank you, Malfoy, but I can do that myself.'

'Of course you can. That was never in doubt. However, it's called good manners. Perhaps you should try them sometime.'

Zabini laughed as he helped Ginny into her chair. 'Good luck, mate.'

Shaking off her sense of foreboding, Hermione sat down. The seating arrangement placed Hermione in between Malfoy and Ginny and across from the Zabini, which suited her perfectly since right now she could only stand to look at Zabini.

Their server approached the table to take their drink orders. After she decided on a glass of water, Hermione hid her face behind her menu, signifying her wish not to be disturbed. Evidently, Ginny did not receive the message as she joined Hermione behind said menu.

'I am _soooo _sorry. I had no idea it would be Malfoy. I don't know what Blaise was thinking, and I completely understand if you want to go,' she whispered.

Hermione straightened her spine and uttered a firm 'no,' lowering the menu. She may have been hiding from Malfoy for nearly a month, but now that they were in the same room where he could see her, there was no way in hell she would show any distress. To retreat would send the wrong message, that he had some power over her, that he had hurt her. No, as far as she was concerned, he was nothing more than a stupid, idiotic male that she had had the enviable privilege of slapping in third year.

A few minutes later, the server returned with the bottle of champagne Malfoy had ordered, putting it in a bucket of ice beside him to chill. 'Are you ready to order?' the waiter asked, in the lilting tones of an Irishman.

'I've never eaten here before,' Hermione said apologetically, looking up into the face of her waiter for the first time. Curly brown hair, blue eyes, tall, and nice, even teeth her parents would love. In short, handsome.

'I think you'd like the French Quarter,' Malfoy suggested.

Hermione pretended not to hear him. Leaning closer to the waiter, she spied his name tag. "Hello, Patrick. Do you have any recommendations?'

Patrick blinked, surprised at her overt attention, then gave her a warm smile. 'Of course, Miss Granger.'

Hermione swatted him lightly on the arm. 'Please, call me Hermione.'

'Alright, _Hermione.' _

Hermione nearly sighed. The sound of her name on another's lips had never sounded so musical.

Patrick leaned over her shoulder, pointing out one of the menu items. 'I would recommend the Cedar Plank Salmon.'

Hermione closed her menu. 'Then that is what I will have. Thank you, Patrick.'

Zabini watched her over his menu from across the table, his eyes crinkling around the corners in approval. Hermione fiddled with her napkin, feigning interest in Patrick as he took the rest of their orders.

When Patrick left to place their orders, Draco leaned towards her, putting his elbow on the table. 'You aren't going to like it,' he said brightly.

'You're the absolute last person in the world who would know what I like.'

His gray eyes narrowed, but she forced herself to withstand his knowing gaze. 'I highly doubt that. You can have some of what I ordered after you've admitted that I'm right.'

'Thank you, but no thank you. Your recommendation sounds like a method of torture. Or a place where prostitutes frequent. Hardly appetizing. I think I'll pass.'

'Suit yourself.' Malfoy retrieved the champagne, holding the bottle towards her. 'Would you care for a drink?'

She pointed to her glass of water.

'Well, pour me some,' Blaise said, nearly laughing. 'I can tell this is going to be a fun night, and I want some alcohol to heighten my enjoyment of it.'

Malfoy gripped the bottle, slowly curling his pale fingers around the neck. The silvery onyx ring which held the family crest glinted against the dark glass of the bottle. Hermione closed her eyes, suddenly struck by the memory of the cold metal digging into her overheated skin. Another flash of memory, this time of Malfoy's mouth, ghosting over her neck.

Unwilling to relive that past, she forced her eyes opened. They met with scrutiny from the wizard seated across from her. And while it was impossible for Blaise to know what she'd been thinking of, Hermione shifted in her seat, looking to the side to avoid eye contact. Unfortunately, Malfoy happened to be on her side. And when their eyes met, the distance and month's time that had settled between them seemed to burn away under the heat of his gaze. The restaurant disappeared. Instead, they were seated across from each other in her office, knees and hands intertwined.

No!

'Hermione, what's wrong?' Ginny asked, alarmed. Silly goose. She still attributed Hermione's discomfiture to Malfoy. And she was right, but for the wrong reasons. Malfoy did not remind Hermione of Bellatrix's torture. His presence recalled events that were much sweeter, and yet somehow much more painful.

Hermione blinked, willing the blurriness in her eyes to go away. That was over, and it was for the best. She stared down into her lap, her restless fingers playing with her napkin as she regrouped.

Plastering a sheepish smile on her face, she lied, 'I skipped lunch. I must be lightheaded, that's all.' Still hesitant to look up from her lap, Hermione felt around the table for her water. Her fingers quickly encountered the cold, hard surface of the glass, but there was something warm and yielding there as well. Malfoy pressed the glass into her hand, and she lifted it to her mouth with trembling fingers. When she set the glass down, he had a slice of bread, taken from the basket in the middle of table, ready for her. 'Eat this.'

'No, thank you.'

'Granger,' he said, his voice low in warning.

'I said, no. I'll eat when Patrick brings me my food.'

Malfoy opened his mouth, ready to argue with her, but she turned away from him. 'Zabini, how did you get Ginny to date you?'

'He offered her a million galleons,' Malfoy said, irritably.

'I didn't ask you,' Hermione said, though she stared ahead at Blaise. Malfoy did not merit a glance. 'Ginny said something about meeting her after one of her games?'

'Yes. I had gone to a Harpies game with a business associate and thought it would be entertaining to reacquaint myself with Ginny. Said business associate was the brother of one of the women on the team, and so he kindly brought me into their clubhouse. And the rest, as they say, is history.'

'What a lovely rendition,' Malfoy interrupted. 'But you forgot the part where she turned you down the first five times you asked her out.'

'Enough of my love life, Malfoy. Let's talk about yours. Last I heard, you were hooking up with a coworker in the Ministry supply closets.'

Ginny wrinkled her nose, obviously critical, though Hermione suspected it wasn't rooted in any real censure of Malfoy's closet shenanigans. Hermione knew for a fact that Ginny had a particular fondness for the Hogwarts broom closet near the base of the stairs to the astronomy tower. But Hermione welcomed Ginny's attempt to show solidarity against the nephew of Bellatrix Lestrange.

'Sounds scandalous,' Ginny muttered disdainfully.

Hermione's skin flushed, and she looked at her glass, checking to make sure it contained water and not champagne.

'Very scandalous,' Blaise agreed. 'You're awfully quiet, Granger. What do you think of Malfoy's behavior? Does his cavorting with a coworker in the Ministry's supply closets make him a slut?'

Ginny, who had till that moment adopted the stern look of a disapproving Molly Weasley, let out an astonished laugh, badly disguising it as a cough.

Hermione raised her hand for another sip of water, but when she saw how badly it shook, she folded her hands in her lap. 'What Malfoy does in the Ministry's closets is none of my business. So long as it doesn't interfere with my work, I don't care who he cavorts with.'

'Even if it's Sharon Vernus?' Zabini asked.

Red hot anger boiled over in Hermione's gut. She despised Sharon Vernus! Her eye twitched just thinking of that spoiled, lazy snot. And the fact that Malfoy had talked about that cow with Zabini. But rather than sharing her thoughts with those at the table, she said, 'Again, I do not care what Malfoy does in the Ministry closets, or who he does it with.'

'I know you dislike Sharon, but your jealousy is unfounded,' Malfoy said quietly.

'Why would I be jealous?'

Patrick chose that moment to levitate their food to the table, sparing Malfoy the trouble of responding. 'Here is your cedar plank salmon, _Hermione_. Careful, the plate is hot.'

'Thank you, Patrick,' Hermione said, shooting him her most brilliant smile. It grew even larger when something that sounded awfully like a growl escaped the man sitting next to her.

And now for dinner. The pink flesh of the fish stared up at Hermione. Never having been a big fan of seafood, Hermione had only ordered it to spite Malfoy. Picking up her fork, she twirled it, contemplating how she could manage this daunting meal without proving right Malfoy's assumptions that she would dislike her dinner. She waited as the others were served, hoping the salmon would appear more appetizing the longer it sat on her plate. It didn't.

'Can I get you anything else? Perhaps more water?' Patrick asked.

'Oh, how thoughtful of you. Yes please, I would love some more water,' Hermione simpered.

'He's only doing his job, Granger. No need to throw yourself at his feet in gratitude,' Malfoy sniped as Patrick went to retrieve the pitcher of water.

Ginny lowered her fork and knife to the table with a bang. 'Alright, what is going on between you two?'

'Nothing,' Hermione and Draco grumbled in unison, then glared at each other.

Zabini snorted. 'Draco's in love with Hermione.'

Someone over at the next table gasped, startling the already startled Hermione. Her hands jumped out of her lap, knocking over her glass of ice.

'Zabini, you've had too much champagne,' Draco said through gritted teeth as Patrick scurried over to clean up the mess.

'Blaise, what are you talking about?' Ginny said. Her head swung back and forth between Hermione and Malfoy like a pendulum, trying to puzzle out the situation.

'Unbeknownst to you, your friend and mine have been engaging in illicit trysts in random Ministry closets. Or rather, had been engaging. It ended about a month ago.'

Ginny blinked. 'Hermione? Is this true? Did you and Malfoy…in a closet?'

Patrick, who was slowly cleaning up the water with his wand, accidentally elbowed Ginny's champagne glass.

'Are you kidding me?' Malfoy snapped over the waiter's apologies, snatching the wand from Patrick's hand. 'Give me that, you moron!' Pointing the wand at the stain, Malfoy barked 'Tergeo.' Once he'd siphoned off the water, he thrust the wand back at the waiter. 'Here, and if there is another spill, I'll take care of it.'

'Yes, sir,' the waiter said. He walked away, giving Hermione a forlorn glance.

'Gods, Draco, was that really necessary?' Hermione said angrily. 'Why must you be such a prat?'

'Draco?' Zabini said. 'How interesting.'

'Hermione, why haven't you answered me? Is Blaise telling the truth?' Ginny asked, her voice growing shriller with each word she spoke. If she had spoken another sentence, Malfoy would have had to cast another cleaning spell from the champagne glasses shattering.

'It was _not_ illicit. We only kissed,' Draco pointed out before Hermione could. A twinge of gratitude for his defense of her honor began to blossom inside her chest, but she brutally stamped the tiny seedling out. None of that! So what if he stood up for her? Where had that been a month ago?

'Draco, gentleman that he is, refuses to discuss the finer points of what happened, so I had to imagine it myself and may have…embellished some,' Blaise admitted. 'Regardless, our friends have not been very forthcoming. From what I've gathered, they had been going at it for months until Draco bollocksed things up. Since then he's been trying to get back in her good graces. Does that seem like a fair assessment, Hermione?'

'Your help is no longer required, Zabini,' Malfoy warned, his voice menacing. 'I will handle this myself.'

'Are you sure? You don't seem to be doing a very good job, and I for one am tired of hearing you pine over your lost love.'

Malfoy gripped the stem of his champagne glass so tightly, Hermione feared it would snap.

Blaise leaned in towards Hermione, conspiratorially. 'Honestly, it's kind of pathetic.' In a high pitched voice, Zabini mocked his friend, 'Why won't she speak to me? Do you think she'll ever like me back? Hermione this, Hermione that. Blah, blah, blah.'

'I have no idea what you're talking about!' Draco protested. 'And neither do you, since you are insane.'

'You just don't remember it because you were drunk at the time.'

'If that is the case, which is by no means certain since you are an incurable liar, why would anyone believe the ravings of a drunk?' Malfoy argued.

'In vino veritas,' Blaise replied drolly. He took a sip of his champagne, then set the glass down slowly. 'And you've all but admitted that, drunk or not, you have raved over your Dear Miss Granger.'

All eyes were now on her, even the ones at the tables around them, waiting for her response. What was she supposed to do? Were these new revelations even true? And if they were, should it change anything? The questions buzzing in her brain muddled her normally clear thinking processes.

Hermione could take it no longer. Standing to her feet, she dropped her napkin onto the table, said a terse, 'Excuse me,' then walked away from the table.

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><p><strong>To Be Continued<strong>

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><p>Reviews are always welcomed, though not always replied to. =D <strong><br>**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I own nothing.

Thank you, likethegaiaphage, for the most excellent beta.

Here is part two. This will be in three parts. And I know, I really need to finish my Series story. It's coming, it's coming! Thanks to all who reviewed. I'm going to go and reply to them all right now!

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><p><strong>The Skeleton in the Closet<strong>

**Part Two**

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><p>The bathroom. Now! But where was it? Hermione frantically searched for some kind of sign, then remembered she'd passed one just after she'd entered the restaurant. Clutching her purse to her chest, she made a beeline to the washroom. Out of the corner of her eye, the patrons' heads swivelled as she passed. She set her jaw and stared straight ahead, refusing to betray a single emotion to the nosy gawkers.<p>

First she'd pull herself together, then she'd slip out of the restaurant and deal with whatever waited her outside the doors. Undoubtedly someone would spread the word to the Wizard Press, and more than one journalist had a score to settle with Hermione. They were probably waiting outside The Melting Cauldron right now, their Quick-Quotes Quills sharp as claws and ready to tear her to shreds.

Upon entering, Hermione checked the bottom of the stalls for any feet. Mercifully, she was alone. But just in case someone joined her, she hid in the one farthest from the door. Free from intrusive stares, the walls she'd built to protect herself turned to ash. She jammed her fists into her eyes, trying to staunch the memories and emotions that attacked her. Every attempt met with failure. And these failures made her recall other failures, including the one that had started it all.

It had been nearly five months ago…

Hermione scribbled furiously on her parchment, ignoring the way the ink from previous sentences had smeared across the page and her hand. She'd fix it later. All that mattered was penning her ingenious ideas on house elf reform to paper before any of her brilliance seeped out into the space around her, never to be thought of again.

Mid-sentence her quill broke. Cursing her horrid luck, Hermione repaired it as quickly as possible, fearful that she would lose even one iota of her latest Best Idea Ever. Not a minute had passed before it broke again. Another hasty repair followed, and another break followed that. Hurling the defective quill against the wall, she desperately scrambled through her drawers, but could not find another quill. And she'd only gotten half of her newest Best Idea Ever onto parchment.

Trying not to panic lest her anxiety leech away her inspiration, she dashed to the nearest supply closet. A seemingly endless row of shelves stood before her, an immobile army bent on her destruction and the eternal enslavement of house elves the world over. Not on her watch! Hermione attacked, methodically searching every box for a particular kind of quill, the one with the extra fine point nibs. Just when it seemed all had been lost, she opened her eleventh box and grasped soft-feathered triumph. She had hardly celebrated her victory when someone ran into the supply closet, slamming the door shut and turning off the lights. The room and her extra fine point quill, which she still held aloft in conquest, were plunged into darkness.

Before Hermione could yell at the intruder to turn the lights back on, the most creative and seemingly endless stream of expletives rent the air. Truly, the most impressive command of English swear words she'd ever had the privilege of hearing. Every now and then, the intruder named one of their co-workers, and from the bits of decent language spliced into the curse words, she figured out what had led to this violent outburst in the supply closet. In awe she listened as he continued to spout his grievances, completely unaware of her presence. Only the jarring sound of fleshing punching metal cut short her enjoyment.

'Shit!'

Hermione cringed at the intruder's muffled shouts of pain, biting her lip to keep silent. Her conscience poked at her with all the heat of a branding iron, but she reasoned the stirrings of compassion away. If he caught her, all hell would break loose. And while she admired his colorful way with words, she had no wish for Malfoy's vitriol to be directed at her.

This closet behavior was entirely at odds with his actions during the past six months, and if she hadn't recognized his voice, she would never have known it was him. Since his first day with the ministry, Draco Malfoy's behavior actually resembled his appearance—that was to say, he had been an absolute angel. Which was saying a lot, considering the abuse he endured from some of his coworkers. No more than he deserved, she heard whispered in the hallways; karma, they called it. And yet, Hermione had never participated in his debasement, had actually felt badly for him.

Hoping to spare his dignity, Hermione silently bided her time, keeping herself occupied by repeating the bits of The Best Idea Ever she'd yet to transcribe. But it seemed Malfoy had no immediate plans of leaving. After ten minutes and nary a word from her fellow closet occupant, she had to speak up or the Best Idea Ever would be lost forever.

'Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but I really need to leave.'

Having expected a torrent of Malfoy curses, the quiet that met her ears unsettled her.

Finally, he managed a disbelieving, 'Granger?' She did not miss the hopeful note in his voice. Too bad she had to ruin it by actually being real and not a figment of his imagination.

'Yes, it's me,' she confirmed.

'You have got to be kidding me,' Malfoy uttered below his breath, then let out a strangled groan. 'Of course it's Granger. And now my day is complete.'

'It could be worse. I could be one of those coworkers you just consigned to the ninth circle of hell.'

Malfoy made no reply.

Ugh. How damnably awkward. Setting the quill aside, she pulled out her wand and cast a quick Lumos charm, then cautiously made her way over to him. In the silvery light, she could just discern the crimson stains across his knuckles.

'Your hand, it's bleeding,' she whispered. The air around them hung heavily, thick with tension, and she willingly chose to speak in hushed tones. If a little inconvenience on her part fended off another of his fits, she'd gladly sacrifice.

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, leaned against a supply shelf with the other. 'Yes, you're very observant.'

'Aren't you going to heal it?'

'No.' After a few seconds, he let out an exasperated sigh. 'I'm wandless for another six months.'

Part of his probation as a convicted felon, she figured. He'd only served a month in Azkaban after the Battle of Hogwarts, but the reminder of his wandlessness—a continual mark that he was a felon—must have stung. Not knowing what to say, she shifted from foot to foot, trying to decide whether she could just walk away from the situation. In the end, her conscience wouldn't allow it.

Drawing near him, she waved her wand as she uttered a healing spell. The magic worked its way across his pale skin, knitting the broken pieces back together seamlessly. Without thinking, Hermione brushed the tops of his knuckles. A shock of static crackled between them, setting off a chain of events: Hermione jumped, which caused her shoulder to hit a nearby shelf, which made a box fall to the ground, which then scattered its contents across the floor, which in turn amused Malfoy. Or so she assumed. His smirk seemed most easily explained by her klutziness. The smile she gave him in return, though, defied explanation.

With a wave of her wand, the folders were piled neatly back on the shelf. 'There, all better,' she said proudly.

'Thanks,' he mumbled.

'What was that? I couldn't hear you.'

'Don't push your luck.'

But she always did. Hermione set her wand on the shelf between them, eyeing him in the soft glow. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the shelf, deciding to offer Malfoy some of her sage advice. Not for Malfoy's sake, she told herself, but in order to take down the great evil of Charles Pigeon, office bully. The curly-headed ginger took up space in the office next to hers, poisoning the air with his boorishness and incessant mouth-breathing. As a member of the Golden Trio, the beady-eyed troll gave Hermione a wide berth, but Malfoy had no such protection. And given his less than stellar reputation, everyone looked the other way when Pigeon picked on the ex-Death Eater. Including Hermione, much to her shame.

'I know Pigeon can be infuriating, but you should just ignore him. Otherwise, it's like he gets the better of you a second time. And Pigeon does not merit that kind of satisfaction.'

'Duly noted.'

'I'm serious, Malfoy. No matter how much he insults you or your job performance, Pigeon is a dullard of the first order. He only got his job because his mother Polyjuiced herself and did the interview for him.'

'You don't say.'

'I do. The man is as dumb as a rock and twice as lumpy. You shouldn't trouble yourself by giving his comments any consideration.'

'I don't.'

Hermione barely suppressed the urge to poke him in the chest. 'Then how do you explain your little outburst just now?'

'Nothing more than a long and complicated locating spell.'

The skin between her eyes crinkled in confusion. 'Was that a joke?'

'No, I was actually trying to locate these,' Malfoy touched the stack of folders Hermione had recently knocked to the ground. 'And here they are.'

Hermione couldn't help herself. She giggled. Then, inexplicably, she touched her neck, tracing along the hollow of her throat. Malfoy followed the delicate movements of her fingers, intent as Crookshanks had ever eyed Scabbers. Was she attempting to flirt with Malfoy? And succeeding?

'Er, anyway, I hope Pigeon gets the axe. Then neither of us will ever have to think of him again.'

Malfoy's eyebrows rose. 'Since when do you say harsh words against anyone unless it's me? My childhood image of Gryffindor's Princess is shattered.'

'Please. Pigeon deserves it. He's a lazy, undeserving arse that gripes about the work ethic of everyone else in the department to our boss. And then he has the nerve to dump all of his work on the very same people about whom he complained. If I ever get into any position of power, he is the second one I'm firing, right after Sha—' Hermione stopped mid-rant, recalling that she and Malfoy weren't exactly on friendly terms. Her 'To Be Fired' list would need to remain under wraps. 'Sorry. I got a bit carried away there,' she noted wryly.

'Don't apologize. I hate him.'

Their shared animosity of Pigeon warmed Hermione's insides. Overcome by a sudden rush of goodwill, Hermione did something very foolish: she slipped her hand into Malfoy's large one.

Her hand firmly in his, she told him, 'I see the way Pigeon and his goons insult you, and how you just sit there and take it even though you are smarter and more hard-working than all of them combined. In my opinion, that makes you twice the wizard any of them can ever hope to be, even without your wand.' The grip on his fingers tightened with every word of her passionate tirade. And Merlin help her, but her eyes had misted over at the injustice of it all.

Malfoy blinked, and Hermione instantly dropped his hand as if it were covered with Bubotuber Pus. 'Er, sorry. I sometimes get carried away…'

'I know. You already said that.'

Prat. He was trying to distract her with an argument, but she wouldn't allow it. 'If you want, I will say something to the Human Resources department. It's not fair how they treat you, and it should be reported.'

'Don't worry about it,' he said gruffly.

Hermione grabbed her wand, lest she take his hand again. 'Are you sure?'

'If I let you help me, where would it end? Today it's reports to Human Resources, which sounds innocent enough. But the next thing I know, you'll be forcing your ugly knitted creations on me and handing out memberships to some inappropriately named society, like Draco Abraxas Malfoy's Network for Emancipation and Development.'

Hermione stared at him, her mouth open.

'D.A.M.N.E.D., Granger, ' Malfoy clarified. 'Damned.'

Well, no duh. And if she started it, technically it would be Hermione Jean Granger's Network for Emancipation and Development, which spelled absolutely nothing. But that wasn't what had left her agog. 'Your middle name's Abraxas?'

'Granger, are you even listening? I am not one of your stupid house elves,' he groused, thinly disguised the amusement in his voice. 'I can take care of myself.'

'Really, it would be no trouble for me to—'

He pressed his lips to her cheek. 'Thank you, Granger, but I'll handle it,' he said close to her ear.

The instant his lips made contact with her cheek, a tremor shot down her arm. Her wand clattered to the floor, where it rolled under a shelf and gave up its light. Even more distressing, Hermione forgot how to breathe. Fortunately, her lungs operated independently of her brain and demanded she inhale. But her efforts to appease the starved organ were foiled by Malfoy's chest. The solid mass pushed against her fluffy one, barely permitting the shallow and unsatisfying breaths she took.

Slightly calloused fingers caught her chin, tilting it upward, but he did not lean down any closer.

Feeling faint, Hermione closed her eyes and rested her palms on his chest. Now would be the perfect time to push him away. Nothing had happened yet. There was still time to walk away.

'What are you doing?' she asked.

'I don't know.'

Malfoy brushed his lips against hers. Once, twice. Before he could draw back a third time, she fisted the material of his sweater.

They stumbled into one of the shelves, sending a box of spellotape crashing to the ground. The shelf dug into Hermione's back, and she arched away from it, bringing her body flush with Malfoy's. Her lips parted in a gasp, equal parts pain and pleasure. His grip around her waist tightened, and he hauled her against him, crushing her against his chest.

Sadly, the mind of The Brightest Witch of Her Age could only handle so much stimulation. Faced with the choice of retaining The Best Idea Ever or giving herself over completely to Malfoy's sensual assault, Hermione wavered indecisively.

Until he tugged on her ear. With his teeth.

Her once Best Idea Ever floated away into the ether like an escaped balloon. Hermione did not miss it; she'd already found something to distract her, namely handfuls of Draco's hair. The beautiful moonbeam strands were softer than the cashmere of his sweater, and she wrapped her fingers around it jealously, earning a bite from Malfoy to her lower lip.

Hermione stood on her tiptoes, unconsciously lifting her foot off the ground every now and again. After the fourth time, Malfoy caught her leg behind the knee, hitching it up on one of the lower shelves behind him. Ah! That was…just what she'd wanted. She shifted restlessly against him, never stopping to wonder how he'd understood her desires before she had.

Only the need for oxygen made her push him away, and only far enough so she wouldn't pass out. Her forehead rested against his as she caught her breath. It took longer than usual since he kept running his fingers along her hips, tickling the skin that peeked out where her shirt and skirt had parted ways.

'This is so irresponsible,' she groaned as his lips caressed her neck.

'I thought Gryffindors liked being reckless.'

'Not on company time.'

'Good point. And I still need to pass my probation.'

'Yes, you do.'

'Though, to be fair, we've been in here less than half an hour. And I haven't used either of my breaks today.'

'Neither have I…I suppose this could serve as my two breaks for the day.'

Malfoy must have thought it a praiseworthy idea because he lavished more attention to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, making Hermione feel as if her stomach had disapparated to regions unknown. Merciful Morgana, he was like a vampire. Good thing _she_ still had her wand, because she'd need a concealment charm for the love bite that was undoubtedly purpling her skin.

'See, this isn't irresponsible after all.'

'Yes, we're model employees,' she said, striving for sarcasm, but only achieving an embarrassing breathlessness.

Pulling away, he smiled down at her.

'What?' Hermione asked, mystified by the fondness in his gaze.

'Your hair. It's atrocious.'

'What's wrong with my hair?' she squawked, shoving him away from her. As he still had her pinned against the wall, she didn't have much leverage. Malfoy didn't budge. The infuriating git actually reached for her head. Self-consciously, she ducked, but his fingers grazed her shoulders where her once neat chignon hung in clumps.

'It looks like you've gone several rounds with a breathtaking wizard.'

'Oh.' Well…

His fingers inched up her neck and into her hair. Finding her clip, he released the remains of her chignon from its hold, sending it tumbling around her shoulders. Mollified that he hadn't really been insulting her, she allowed him to pat down the poofy strands.

'You don't look that much better,' she pointed out.

'That's because I've gone several rounds with a breathtaking witch.'

Ooh, good answer! But when had Malfoy become so charming? Certainly not at Hogwarts. Still, he was Malfoy and one marvelous snog in the closet did not a relationship make.

Hermione took his tie, which had moved around his collar like a misbehaving necklace. Her fingers ran down the strip of purple silk, pulling it straight when she came to the end.

'Malfoy, we, um, probably shouldn't tell anyone about this.'

'Agreed.'

Hermione sighed in relief, releasing his tie. 'I don't know what came over me.'

'Does it matter? We're both adults, and neither of us is in a relationship, right?'

Hermione laughed. Only if you counted the nightly foursome she had with Crookshanks, her television, and a frozen dinner.

'No, I'm most decidedly not in a relationship.'

'Then I see no problem. Do you?'

Plenty. But she shook her head.

Malfoy knelt down and located her lost wand. As he handed it over to her, he pronounced, 'Good, because we should do this again. Now would you rather leave first?'

Her brows knit in confusion. Leave? Hadn't he just extended an invitation to repeat their activities?

'What?' she asked, needing clarification.

'I see you've never done this before.'

Hermione frowned, not liking his implication. Did he think she was some tart who regularly allowed men liberties with her person? And was he the type of man that would take these liberties from tarts? If he noticed her distress, he didn't let on.

'Think about it, Granger. If we left the closet at the same time and someone were outside, it would arouse suspicion. Especially with your clothes rumpled and that satisfied look on your face.'

'Right,' she agreed tonelessly.

'So, who leaves first?' he prompted impatiently.

'You can.' She needed a few minutes to collect herself and her hair. And she still hadn't gotten her quill.

'Alright. I'll see you later.'

He had already closed the door behind him when she'd uttered a bewildered, 'Bye.'

Three minutes later, she walked out of that supply closet quill in hand, vowing to never let it happen again.

They were back in another closet less than a week later. She had been walking down the hall, not paying attention to anything but the document in her hand and bumped into him. Despite it being her fault, she nearly bit his head off. His eyes narrowed, and she stared back unapologetically, ready for a return of his bratty Hogwarts self. Malfoy looked up and down the hall, and when he saw that no one was there, pulled her into the supply closet. Granted, a different supply closet than the last one, but it ended the same way—her pushed up against the wall, her fingers buried in his hair, and his hands wrapped around her waist. Whispers and hurried breathing the only sounds except for the rustling of their clothes against each other.

Hermione blamed the random nature of it. If he hadn't accidentally chosen that supply closet. If she hadn't accidentally bumped into him. But then, four days later, he'd sent her an inter-office memo, his elegant scrawl bold against the lavender paper: _Supply Closet. Noon._ She checked to see if the memo had actually been misdirected, but he had clearly written out her name on the outside. So, no accident. Hermione had shown up five minutes early only to find him waiting for her with lasagna. They'd hastily eaten it after spending the majority of their lunch break snogging on top of a crate of parchment.

At first, Hermione hated herself for these little rendezvous. She'd always looked down on those Hogwarts girls who settled for guys mauling them in broom closets. Now she was one of them, and she didn't even have the excuse of teenage hormones. The idea that she was just another random girl who Malfoy used to indulge his lust wore at her pride and self-worth. So what if she was lonely? That was no excuse to engage in…whatever with Malfoy. And what must he think of her? That she was nothing more than a cheap floozy? Or worse yet, a heartsick girl so desperate for male attention, she'd accept it from anyone, even her childhood enemy.

But all her recriminations were not enough to put an end to their meetings. She told herself, once Malfoy crossed the line, did something indecent, she'd stop him, probably with a slap. Only he never tried to sleep with her, never slid his hands too far down or too far up. Just kissed her in that mind-altering, knee-collapsing way of his.

As their meetings multiplied and she heard no reports of Malfoy dating anyone else, her view of their encounters changed. Every other day, he'd send her memos about the where and when, and she'd dutifully meet him, always leaving the closet or office feeling better than when she'd entered it. It was hard to feel worthless when Malfoy made her seem like she was his entire world. As she scurried back to her office, she'd think of the way he tucked her curls behind her ear or cradled her face in his hands. Or how he whispered her name, always her first name, into the top of her head. Or how they'd sit on the ground, backs against the wall and just hold each other's hands as she rested her head on his shoulder.

If it had been up to her, their meetings would have been every day, but she always let him initiate, too worried that she'd overstep the bounds of whatever it was they had. In her weaker moments, though, she fancied it a courtship. Right up until the day they'd almost been caught.

They'd been in Perpetua Banks's office, vacant due to Perpetua's bout with the flu. It had happened so fast, it had been a blur. From what she could piece together there had been some sound that she had not heard, perhaps the jiggling of a doorknob. Malfoy had pushed her away, causing a painful collision with Perpetua's desk. Putting a finger to his mouth, he quickly straightened his clothes and approached the door. Without looking back to see if she was alright, he opened the door and informed the person on the other side to hang on a second, then slipped outside.

They'd never addressed how to handle a near discovery, but Hermione thought it best to stick to the established protocol. As she counted to 180 she noticed he'd left his tie behind. With a sigh of fond exasperation she picked up the cloth and stuffed it in her pocket. Exiting Perpetua's office, she looked down the hallway, debating on what to do with the scrap of clothing. She decided to return it to him immediately; otherwise, she ran the risk of keeping it forever.

Hermione had just turned the corner, strolling purposefully down the hallway that housed Malfoy's work space. One step before she would have entered his office, the cultured tones of Sharon Vernus assaulted her ear drums.

'You are aware that dating a co-worker is against Ministry policy, aren't you, Malfoy?'

'Very funny.'

'Yes, I know.' Hermione heard a shuffling of papers, and while unable to look through walls, she pictured Sharon Vernus settling on Malfoy's desk, leaning forward and winking conspiratorially at him. 'Now tell the truth. Is there something going on with you and Granger? I know she was in that office with you.'

Hermione held her breath, anxious that she would miss any of his reply. Part of her hoped, well, she didn't know what. She moved closer to the door; close enough to hear Malfoy bark with laughter loud and clear. 'Granger? You couldn't pay me to touch her. No, we were just talking about some project we've been collaborating on.'

'In Perpetua's office?'

'I had given Perpetua a form that I needed to answer one of Granger's incessant questions. After I found it, she started in with her usual…antics. I would still be there now if you hadn't interrupted. I suppose I should be thanking you.'

'It was nothing. I'll gladly come to your assistance anytime.' Sharon clucked her tongue sympathetically. 'You poor thing. To be stuck with the likes of her. She's so uptight and frigid. I've had the displeasure of speaking with her on a few occasions, and all she thinks about is work, work, work. It's so pathetic, it's sad. She can't have much of a social life.'

'One of these days I'll make sure to ask her about it.'

'Oh, Malfoy, you're so cheeky. But don't trouble yourself with another encounter with the Office Bore. It doesn't take much imagination to guess what she does in her free time. She goes home, feeds her many cats, heats up a frozen dinner, and curls up with a book. Or something equally pathetic.'

'You never know, there might be a guy. Perhaps she's still pining for that Weasley chap.'

'Which one?'

'Does it matter? They all look the same to me.'

'Ha, you're right. And it's not like any of them would like her,' Sharon cackled. 'Can you even picture her with a guy?'

'Not really.'

'Neither can I. If she ever managed to get a guy to like her, she wouldn't know what to do with him. Probably ask him to read to her. Or take him to a wizarding convention on the treatment of house elves.'

'Naturally.'

There was more shuffling of papers. Hermione noticed the tie she had been holding had fallen to the floor. She picked it up and put it in her robes.

Sharon broke the brief lull in their conversation with a loud sigh. 'A perfectly unoccupied office gone to waste. I'm sure we could have found something better to do with our time than bicker and argue.'

'Perhaps I should ask my boss to work with you instead of Granger. Our meetings would be much more productive.'

Then a series of giggles and inaudible whispers commenced, and Hermione stopped listening.

So that's what Malfoy thought of her. A funny little ache sprang up in her chest, radiating outwards. Well, what did she expect? Hadn't she warned herself that she was only one of many in a long line of Ministry girls? Somewhere along the way she stopped believing it, but here was proof that she'd been right all along. She never should have doubted herself. Or overestimated her strength. Obviously she couldn't deal with the pain of not being important to him. Well, time to give him up before he hurt her in a way from which she'd never recover.

Hermione stalked into his office, all smiles. 'Good afternoon, Sharon. Malfoy.'

Sharon jumped off Malfoy's desk, tugging down at the hem of her skirt. 'Hermione! How are you?'

'Busy,' she said with a shrug of her shoulders. 'But that's to be expected. You know me. All I think about is work, work, work.'

Sharon's face paled, while Hermione's cheeks flushed with the excitement of confrontation. The heat of Malfoy's gaze contributed to her glow; his eyes burned her skin like the sun on a hot day. But she refused to believe what she saw there. After all, she hardly knew him. They only made out in closets, and a look of disgust could easily be mistaken for regret.

'We were just discussing Perpetua,' Sharon said, attempting to lie, but Hermione would have none of it.

'I didn't ask, but thanks for the update.' Hermione tapped her finger against her chin. 'Now why did I come here again? Oh, that's right. Just a friendly reminder that the next time you two wish to indulge in office gossip, consider using a silencing charm.'

Hermione pivoted on her heel and flounced away. She'd taken five steps out of the office when Malfoy grabbed her by the elbow and hurried her down the hall. When they'd turned the corner and were out of earshot of Sharon, he said, 'Granger, we need to talk.'

She inclined her head as if puzzled and removed her arm from his grip. 'Why?'

With a agitated jerk of his head he gestured back to his office.

'Oh, that,' Hermione said flatly. 'I don't think any discussion is necessary.' Hermione tucked her hand inside her robe, pulling out his wrinkled tie. 'Here you go. Try not to leave your personal effects lying about. I hate having to clean up after my coworkers.'

'Hermione,' he whispered, probably still worried about the bint in his office. 'Don't be like this.'

'I have no idea what you're talking about. Now take this so I can leave.'

Malfoy refused to do anything of the sort, so she dropped the tie on the ground then walked back to her office, quietly closing the door behind her. Pulling out her case file, she set to work on the piece of house elf legislation she'd been drafting the day she first ran into Malfoy in the supply closet. The Wizarding Body would begin debating it later in the week, and since she'd so stupidly neglected it in favor of trysts with Malfoy, she had plenty of work to do.

And if her vision grew blurry, or a spot of water fell on her parchment, she paid no heed.

…

The door to the women's bathroom slammed open, breaking the memory's thrall, but not lessening any of Hermione's regret. For a second, she contemplated charming a cover for one of the toilets, sitting on it and pulling her legs up, but what was the point? They'd have to have this conversation sooner or later. Might as well make it now.

'Ginny, I'm sorry I ruined your dinner, but I didn't leave because I don't like Blaise.' Hermione laughed humourlessly. 'As you can see, I have no right to disapprove of your relationship considering what I did with Malfoy…' Hermione trailed off, her throat tightening. But the bathroom was not the place to have a breakdown. Merlin forbid Ginny discovered how much Malfoy had hurt Hermione. Ginny would think it her duty to tell Zabini. Or worse, play matchmaker.

Hermione took a deep breath, wiping away the dampness that made her view of the tiled floor fuzzy. 'I'm sorry I never told you about Malfoy, but it never seemed that important. Just a series of stupid, foolish mistakes I _won't _be repeating.'

There was no answer. Ginny's silence ate at her, more terribly than any words of condemnation or anger ever could. In a small, contrite voice Hermione begged, 'Please say something.'

'Is that all that it was for you? A mistake?'

Expecting to hear Ginny explode, the quiet answer Hermione received was most disturbing. Especially considering it hadn't been Ginny answering her at all, but Malfoy.

All the blood in Hermione's face rushed to her feet, and she swayed into the side of the stall.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued<strong>

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><p>Muwahaha!<p>

Also, if you review, you are a real fine lady. =D


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Don't own nothing.

Well, here is the last part. Try not to die of happiness. =P

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><p><strong>The Skeleton in the Closet<strong>

**Part Three**

* * *

><p>In the last chapter…<p>

_In a small, contrite voice Hermione begged, 'Please say something.'_

_'Is that all what it was for you? A mistake?'_

_Expecting to hear Ginny explode, the quiet answer Hermione received was most disturbing. Especially considering it hadn't been Ginny answering her at all, but Malfoy._

_All the blood in Hermione's face rushed to her feet, and she swayed into the side of the stall._

…

The slight crash jolted Hermione from her stupor. 'What the hell, Malfoy! Can't you read? The sign on the door clearly states that this is the _women's_ washroom.' The words echoed off the walls, amplifying the hysteria in her voice and causing her to cringe.

'Answer the question, Hermione.'

Fine, if that's what he wanted.

'Yes, that's all it was for me. Nothing but a string of stupid, foolish mistakes. My stupidest mistake,' she said again, making sure she sounded convinced of her pronouncement.

The door to her stall opened, and Hermione nearly screamed. 'What if I had been on the toilet?'

'Then it would have been locked,' Malfoy said, matter-of-factly, joining her in the stall and closing it behind him. 'And you're lying.'

Ack! It was crowded in here. Her eyes darted about the tiny space, looking for a means of escape. She couldn't take a step back, otherwise her leg would touch the toilet, and she didn't much care for any kind of bodily contact with such a dirty, foul thing. But at this point she considered bodily contact with Malfoy equally toxic. In an act of compromise, she turned her back on him, facing the rear of the stall, hovering precariously between the two hazards.

'How would you know whether or not I'm lying? It's not like we ever really talked. You'd just haul me into a closet without even a by-your-leave and stick your tongue down my throat,' Hermione accused.

She screwed her eyes shut, willing him to disappear. After all, the very idea of Malfoy sharing a stall with her was ludicrous. Malfoy hated public restrooms with a passion, hence why they only met in supply closets and abandoned offices, though there were plenty of Ministry restrooms to be had. But however surreal this moment was in theory, the feel of him at her back, his hand on her hip, the scent of his cologne, was too real to ignore. Her traitorous body lurched towards him by force of a habit ingrained through months of meeting in tight places.

'That's not true,' he rasped against her neck. The impertinent cur! She pushed him away, squeezing by him as she burst out of the stall and rushed to the sink. Her hands gripped the counter, welcoming the way the hard edges dug into her palms.

After a few deep breaths, she lifted her head, catching her reflection in the mirror. There she was in all her glory. Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, reduced to shedding tears over a selfish wanker in the women's toilets. Her life _literally_ in the crapper.

When she'd let Malfoy first kiss her those many months ago, who could have predicted this outcome? Well, she had, for one, and if she had told anyone, they would have warned her away too. Hadn't she always entered the supply closets (when she actually needed something other than Malfoy) full of dread that he'd be there with someone else? Hadn't she opened every memo he sent, worried that he'd use the impersonal messages to put an end once for all to their special arrangement? In fact, the only times she'd truly felt at ease were when she was actually with Malfoy or had just left him.

_Hermione Granger, you stupid idiot! Why didn't you listen to yourself! Why did you let your silly feelings override your common sense! _

She leaned forward and glared at her reflection. The unflattering fluorescent lighting not only made her skin look sallow, but it highlighted the pinched, dissatisfied look of her mouth as well as the bags under her eyes, both products of a month of restless nights.

The sight was almost vindicating. After all, she deserved this. And what better place to finally have it all out than in a public restroom—the most fitting end for their tawdry beginning.

As if on cue, Malfoy strode out of the stall and stood behind her, spying on her through the mirror. 'You're a terrible liar.'

Hermione met his eyes in the mirror. 'Then let's have the truth. Zabini was right. Our meetings were scandalous and illicit. It was best that they ended when they did.'

Malfoy grimaced, but said nothing in return. For once, she felt no satisfaction from being right.

'Where are your accusations of lying now?'

Malfoy shook his head, pushing away the lock of hair that fell across his forehead by the movement. 'You didn't always think what we did was so disgusting. But then, how could you?' His fingers moved behind her head, toyed with one of the curls that had escaped her chignon. 'I was there. I know what happened. It wasn't illicit or scandalous. Farthest thing from it.'

She leaned against the counter, trying to get away from his quiet words and the gentle pull of his fingers. A small puddle of water that rimmed the sink soaked the front of her robes, making her shiver. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself.

'It sounds like we are remembering a very different event. You're probably confusing this with something you did with another girl.'

His hand moved to her neck, touching the soft skin of the underside of her jaw. In the past, it had always been a prelude to certain physical reactions—weak knees, fluttering eyelashes, and goosebumps—but Malfoy had always been too distracted to notice. Or so she thought. Her cheeks burned as he stroked his fingers down the length of her arm, running over her prickled flesh. 'Events, Hermione, not event. It happened more than once. And only with you.'

'In that case, maybe you can help me recall something.'

'Anything.'

'That day we almost got caught, what was it you shoved me into—a desk or a filing cabinet? Because whatever it was, I hit it pretty hard.' Hermione laughed, rubbing the outside of her thigh. 'The bruise still hasn't faded.'

Draco's mouth fell open. Reflexively, he reached for the injured limb, but decided better halfway there, letting his hand fall limply at his side. 'I didn't know.'

Hermione waved away his 'apology.' The bruise hadn't actually hurt her. She knew it was an accident. The truly painful part happened after they left the office.

Hermione turned her head aside, tired of his scrutiny of her. 'Go away, Malfoy. Can't you see you're not wanted?'

'You don't mean-'

'Will you stop telling me how I feel? You don't even know me!'

'I know plenty.'

'Knowing how I like to be touched doesn't count,' Hermione scoffed, using her elbow to put some much needed space between them.

'Then what about your kindness? Or your sense of fairness?'

'Kindness and fairness. Wow, Malfoy, you sure know how to make a girl feel special!'

'You already have ample proof that I want you. You asked for evidence that I know you on a deeper level.'

'Things like that can't be determined from a kiss.'

'Not just a kiss, Hermione. A series of kisses that spanned the course of four months. And don't deny it.'

Deny it? If only. She'd been trying to for weeks, but no matter how hard she tried, remembrances would intrude.

'I take it from your silence that you agree.'

She shrugged her shoulders, pretending not to care. 'Think what you like, Malfoy. You always have, no matter my objections.'

Malfoy laughed snidely. 'What objections? You were always an eager participant in what we did.'

She moved to push him away, but he trapped her by the sink, locking his arms on either side of her. 'Merlin, Hermione, why do you have to be like this? You're driving me insane.'

'Don't try to pin that on me! You were barmy to begin with! Now get off of me.'

Malfoy moved his hands from the sink, wrapping them firmly around her waist when she started struggling against him. 'You're upset with me,' he said calmly, infuriating her all the more. 'A little anger is understandable given what you overheard, but you're acting childish.'

'I am not!'

'Oh, that's right. I only imagined that you ignored me this past month. I must have forgotten that time you let me explain myself, and we discussed this simple misunderstanding like two rational adults,' he said, each word wrapped in thorns.

'Maybe we should ask Blaise to remember for you.'

Malfoy scowled in the mirror.

'And for all your protests, you never once tried to contact me,' she added triumphantly.

Malfoy growled somewhere at the back of his throat, further tightening his arms around her. 'You lit all my memos on fire and sent me their charred remains. I never once saw you set foot outside your office. And when I tried to enter, you barred me by means of a rather vicious hex. My body hair has yet to grow back, in case you were wondering.'

'I wasn't.'

'Of course you weren't, you bloodless shrew,' he said proudly, even affectionately.

'And that spell wasn't for you. There has been a rash of office theft. Someone keeps stealing my extra fine point quills. That is the only reason that spell was in place, so don't fancy yourself anything special.'

She could tell he didn't believe her. 'Alright, Hermione, it wasn't to avoid me. But since you just admitted to turning your office into a fortress against would-be quill thieves, please explain how I was supposed to contact you.'

'It's not my problem if you weren't intelligent enough to figure it out.'

'Ah, but I did figure it out,' he said, smiling grimly at her. 'I'm here now, aren't I?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Unfortunately. Well, you have my undivided attention now…not that I have any choice in the matter,' she grumbled.

Malfoy placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her so she faced him. 'Good, because I want to make myself perfectly clear. I didn't mean a word of what I said to Sharon. The only reason I said that was because I thought you wanted to keep us a secret and that seemed the best way of doing it. Do you understand?'

No, she didn't understand that. Especially when, 'A simple "No, we aren't dating," would have sufficed.'

'Sharon would never have accepted that.'

'I don't bloody care what bloody Sharon Vernus bloody accepts.'

'She has the biggest mouth on the floor. If I couldn't convince her, she would have spread rumors about what we were doing.'

Hermione shook her head, persisting in the safety of her stubbornness. 'And I'm sure it had nothing to do with your fear of the department finding out you that enjoy snogging Mudbloods.'

'Don't say that,' he said, raising his voice.

'Fine.'

It had been a low blow. Besides, she had other points of contention, all of them extremely valid. First off, 'You were scared your parents would find out about us and disown you.'

'You don't even know my parents.'

'I don't need to! You're a Malfoy. In what world would they ever be happy to discover their only son repeatedly sought the company of a Muggleborn?'

"Well, I didn't see you rushing to proclaim your association with me either. Why should I risk getting disinherited over a girl who only acknowledges me in closets and empty offices? A girl who uses me to prove to herself that she isn't the Office Swot and Spinster?'

'I wasn't using you! And I am happy with who I am, even if you treated me like something you scraped off the bottom of your shoe. And you…' her voice broke and she jerked away from him. 'You know I can't stand Sharon Vernus. Did you have to flirt with her right after you'd kissed me?'

'I didn't mean any of that!' he shouted.

'I don't care if you meant it or not! It hurt me!'

Malfoy pressed his lips together in a thin line. When he spoke again, he crisply informed her, 'If you listened to what I said, you would realize that I was actually telling her the truth.'

'That makes it even worse!' Hermione yelled and resumed her struggling.

'Hermione, now listen—ow, dammit, Granger!' She managed to get one good kick in before Malfoy clamped down on her flailing limbs. 'Think! Think about what I told Sharon.'

'Which part? When you said you couldn't stand to touch me? Or was it the bit about me being so pathetic no guy would ever like me? Or maybe that I'm boring, and that you want Shar—' Her voice cracked again. Oh gods, she couldn't even say it. She stopped struggling against Malfoy and hung her head in shame.

'Hermione,' he murmured, 'I said I couldn't be paid to touch you. Obviously I like touching you, very much. Why would I need to be bribed to do something I willingly do?'

Hermione took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. When Malfoy pressed his lips to her temple, she didn't move away.

'And I didn't say you were pathetic, just that I couldn't picture a guy liking you. And it's true; the very idea of someone other than me liking you makes me want to destroy something. And we both know that you aren't boring. How could you believe I think you're boring? If you were, I wouldn't have kept coming back to you over and over.'

'But what about Sharon?'

Malfoy kissed her again, letting his lips linger by her ear. 'She is nothing but an ingratiating simpleton, and I have absolutely no physical interest in her whatsoever. Which is exactly why working with her would be productive. At least I'd be able to get work done. With you, I can't seem to trouble myself with anything so mundane as work.' He nuzzled her cheek with his nose, and Hermione almost smiled.

He must have seen the weakening in her armor. 'Tell me I'm forgiven,' he demanded.

Hermione chewed her lip. She wanted to forgive him, really she did, but…

'Gods, Granger, what is there to think about?' Malfoy snarled, letting go of her to pace the floor.

'Plenty. Your answer seems a bit too convenient.'

'Of course it does. It's the truth.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'And I'm supposed to believe that you wouldn't lie to me?'

'Alright, since you don't believe me, tell me what I should have done? Just kept kissing you when Sharon barged in? Let her blab to everyone about what we've been doing?'

'Yes!' she shouted.

Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth. Her admission was tantamount to saying she wanted a real relationship. That she actually liked him and not just making out with him. Maybe he would ignore it. Or like her, would be too insecure to assume that she wanted to be with him.

'Do you mean that?' Malfoy asked, his eyes intent as a snake's on its prey. He didn't wait for her answer. Striding over, he stopped just short of touching her. 'Because you are the only thing that makes working in that hellhole bearable. I don't want this to be over.'

'What is "this," Draco?' she gestured tiredly between the both of them. 'Do you even know what "this" is? Because I don't, and it drives me spare.'

Malfoy ran his hand over her arm, trying to soothe her. 'It's whatever we want it to be.'

Hermione's spirits sagged. If he just wanted a return to the status quo, she'd have to refuse. She needed more than random snogs between boxes of quills and spellotape. She deserved more than that, and so did Malfoy, whether he'd admit it or not. And even if he didn't want her the same way she wanted him, at least she'd know, right? No more agonizing over whether she could ring him up for a real date. No more wondering if she actually mattered to him.

'What if,' she mouthed, her voice deserting her. Swallowing, she tried again. 'What if we don't want the same things?' She forced herself to look at him, but she couldn't stop the tremors in her hands.

'Impossible,' he said fiercely, his grey eyes fixed on hers.

'Draco, that's not an answer.'

'I want everyone to know that you are mine, Hermione. Isn't that what you want?'

Her heart, such a broken and empty place since she'd turned her back on Draco, suddenly brimmed over with happiness. Her eyes welled up, and she had to blink back her tears. And her cheeks hurt from the width of her smile. Yes. That is exactly what she wanted, but if she spoke, she'd disgrace herself by crying. She'd been doing so well thus far, holding it all back. And she didn't want this to be the first time Draco saw her cry.

Before she could finish nodding her head, he'd swept her into his arms. 'Gods, Hermione.' The warmth in his voice did funny things to her heart; the pinched feeling in the bridge of her nose returned. Maybe it would be alright if she cried after all, because she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold her emotions in check.

He hadn't even kissed her and already she felt weak in the knees. So when he claimed her lips, she allowed herself to lean into him, letting his solid frame bear her up. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she laughed against his mouth as he lifted her onto the counter and continued kissing her.

Pulling back, she placed her hands on either side of his face. 'I missed you.'

Half of his mouth twitched upward, but without any of the smugness of his usual smirk. 'We'll have to fix that. For my part, I promise to never give you a moment's peace.'

Naturally, that set off her waterworks. Hermione roughly swiped at the treacherous tears that had managed to seep out the corner of her eye. 'Geez, Malfoy, we've haven't even been dating for three minutes and you're already making me cry,' she joked, trying to lighten the mood. 'Some boyfriend.'

Draco didn't answer, only kissed the rogue tears that had escaped Hermione's overzealous hand. Two on her cheek, one at the corner of her mouth. Just as she was about to apologize for being such a ninny, he pressed his lips to hers, rendering her speechless.

She greedily sank her fingertips into his hair, pulling a sigh from Draco's mouth. It had been so long, she'd forgotten how soft it was. And she was sure she'd forgotten other things too. Determined to reacquaint herself, she pulled him closer, locking her ankles behind his back.

'Well, I never!'

Huh? Hermione turned away from Draco's questing mouth and stole a glance over his shoulder. In the doorway stood an older woman, dripping in jewels and indignation. With a muttered curse, Hermione buried her face in Draco's neck.

'Good evening, Mrs. Haversham,' Draco answered cheerfully. He must have seen the woman's reflection in the mirror, because he hadn't moved from his place against the sink. Between her legs! When she told Draco she wanted others to know he was hers, this had not been what she meant. Hermione whimpered quietly in embarrassment and let her legs fall to either side of him.

Hermione stole a peek from her hiding place. The older woman blinked a few times, adjusting the spectacles on her face. 'Oh, is that you, Draco? I didn't recognize you with…' her lily white hand gestured to Hermione. Clearing her throat, Mrs. Haversham said, 'I trust your mother and father are in good health.'

Draco moved Hermione's arms from around his shoulders and turned to face the older lady. He leaned back against the sink, making it impossible for her to move. Lucky for everyone involved Hermione had decided to wear trousers to work today. Still, she made sure to poke him in the ribs.

'My parents are in excellent health, thank you.'

'I'm very glad to hear it. When I spoke with Narcissa last week, she was coming down with a ghastly migraine, poor dear.'

Draco made a sympathetic sound. 'She is subject to those from time to time. Thankfully father knows a spell that alleviates most of the pain.'

'Too bad he doesn't know how to change the weather. I'd wager all my galleons it's what caused her migraine in the first place. I can't remember the last time it was this windy.' Mrs. Haversham shook her head in disapproval.

'Neither can I. And you and Mr. Haversham? Have you been well?'

Merciful Morgana! Hermione understood not wanting to be rude, but this was ridiculous! Did Draco expect to conduct an entire conversation with her wrapped around him? She poked his ribs again, urging him to hurry things up with the old biddy.

'Oh, how kind of you to ask, Draco. Harold is well, but that's to be expected; he has the constitution of a hippogriff. As for myself, I've never felt better. I had been feeling under the weather, and your mother offered me some water she'd imported from Bulgaria; it comes from a hot spring that is heated by dragons. And you know how salamanders live in fire. Their blood has all sorts of magical properties, and it seeps into the hot springs, giving the water its curative powers. Ever since I had that water, I've never been better.'

'I'll make sure to let her know you enjoyed it.'

'Please do! And if you could, ask her the name of the water supplier. I forgot who it was.'

'Of course. Is there anything else you'd like me to pass along to my parents?'

'No, I think that's it.' The old woman covered her mouth and coughed daintily. 'Well, I suppose I'll leave you to your lady friend.'

'Good evening, Mrs. Haversham.'

'Good evening, dear.'

When the door shut behind Mrs. Haversham, Hermione leaned her face against his back and groaned.

'Come on,' Draco said encouragingly. 'That actually went rather well.'

'Are you serious? I thought she'd never leave!'

'Funny, that's what my mother always says when she visits the Manor.'

'Well, she must like her enough to give her specially imported Bulgarian dragon water. I can't imagine that's cheap.'

'What? Oh, that.' Draco chuckled. 'Actually, mum had the house elves serve her tap water. She only made up that other stuff because Haversham's a hypochondriac. '

'And the migraines?'

'Also made up. She only gets them when she wants to end one of Haversham's floo calls or visits.'

Hermione rested her head against the mirror. 'How long do you think before she tells your parents what she saw?'

'Why? Are you worried?'

'Of course!'

Malfoy pursed his lips in disapproval. 'But you said you were alright with that.'

'With people knowing we're together, yes. With your mother and father learning that we made out in a bathroom, no.'

Malfoy shuddered. 'Ugh, I had forgotten where we were until then. Thanks for the reminder.' He took her hand and helped her off the counter, then turned to one of the sinks and began washing his hands. 'And as for my parents, I already told them about you a while back.'

'You did?'

Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, 'Why are you still standing over there?'

'I don't need to wash my hands. I didn't go to the bathroom. And what were you saying about your parents.'

'Humor me. Otherwise I will revoke your hair-touching privileges when we kiss.'

'You're not going to answer my question about your parents, are you?'

'No.'

Hermione joined Malfoy at the sink, making sure to dry her hands on his robes when she finished. He shook his head at her immaturity, and she stuck her tongue out at the back of his head as she followed him to the bathroom door. Then almost ran into him when he suddenly stopped.

'What is it?' Hermione asked worriedly. It was too soon for cold feet, wasn't it?

'I don't want to touch the door.'

'Good grief, you're such a baby.' Hermione gave the door a shove, and stomped out of the room, nearly barreling into two witches who were just about to enter. They looked ready to yell at her, but then noticed Draco coming out after her. A look of embarrassment passed over their faces and both checked the door to make sure they hadn't accidentally walked into the men's room. Seizing the opportunity afforded by the witches' temporary confusion, Hermione and Draco slipped away.

Before they came in view of their table, Malfoy intertwined their fingers. Hermione's heart melted a little at the sweet gesture. But when she saw Malfoy smirk at a disappointed Patrick, she made sure to snatch her hand back.

As they approached their table, Ginny looked them over. Her eager, brown eyes did not miss a thing, certainly not Draco's un-tucked shirt or Hermione's rumpled hair. She looked about ready to burst with questions. And when they sat down, she made sure to ask every single one.

As for Blaise, he remained relatively quiet throughout Ginny's interrogation. He only pointed out that Ginny should have listened to him and not worried about Granger despising him two times. (_After all, she's been making out with an ex-Death Eater for months. How could she object to me?_). How Malfoy had stolen his relationship thunder four times. (_I've been properly dating Ginny twice as long as you've been debauching Granger, and yet you'll be the featured couple in tomorrow's _Prophet). And that Malfoy owed him a favor five times. (_I'd originally selected Goyle as my token friend, but Malfoy begged me to tag along so he could see Granger. You should have seen him. On his knees, bawling like a drunken baby._)

Needless to say, when a rather forlorn Patrick had delivered their check, Draco looked about ready to kill Zabini. Thankfully he didn't have his wand; otherwise Hermione thought he would have done Blaise some real damage. The fingers of his wand hand twitched around hers as they stood up from the table. Still, they managed to make it to the exit without further incident.

As Hermione stepped outside into the cold evening, a wall of light burst before her eyes. Haversham or someone from the restaurant must have alerted the hounds. They stood right outside the restaurant, Quick-Quotes Quills at the ready, foaming at the mouth. Over the hubbub, she could only make out a small percentage of the questions. A blessing in disguise, really, for the questions she did hear were as invasive as Ginny's and twice as offensive. Taking a step back, she bumped into Malfoy. 'Seems we have company,' he said under his breath. 'You ready?'

Before she could answer, someone yelled out from the throng, 'Are the rumors true? Are you two dating?'

Hermione held out her hand to Malfoy. Taking it in his, he pressed his lips to her palm. A burst of light scattered around them, as dazzling as fireworks though most likely just the photographer's flashes.

Following Malfoy as he elbowed his way through the rabble, they were halfway down the street when they realized they had lost Zabini and Ginny. They turned back, only to find them answering the questions of the press. Or rather Zabini answering the questions of the press. As they edged closer to the other half of their double date, Hermione clearly heard Zabini say, 'Yes, I can verify that the rumor of Malfoy using the Ladies' toilet is 100 percent fact. Any other questions? Alright, you in the purple.'

'Forget about him,' Hermione said, extricating her hand from Malfoy's vise-like grip, 'I think it's time we went back to my place.'

Malfoy looked ready to argue, but then the import of her words must have finally made its way to his brain.

'Lead the way,' he said, nearly purring with contentment. As she pulled her wand out, he stood behind her, encircling her waist with his arms.

Wand in hand, she turned to him and offered a sweet smile. 'Since you told your parents about me, I think it's only fair my parents know about you.'

Draco's jaw dropped, and Hermione kindly shut it for him. 'There, there. I'm sure they'll love you.'

Draco's answer, a most lyrical stream of curses the likes of which had never graced human ears (both muggle and magical), was lost in apparation.

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><p><strong>The End<strong>

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><p>AN: Hope you enjoyed. Now that this DMHG story demon has been exorcised, perhaps I can focus in on finishing my other stories. Thanks for reading.**  
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